


Sureties

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-03
Updated: 2010-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 09:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There're a few things that Tommy Joe is sure about in life.</p><p>Disclaimer: Did not happen. Least not as far as we know. Mores the pity. Just came about from the ridiculous chemistry between these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sureties

**Author's Note:**

> *smackles* to Red for the beta!

There're a few things that Tommy Joe is sure about in life: L.A. will be ridiculously hot in the summer, screaming fangirls will always make his dick hard, and eyeliner really is _his_ thing.

And he's pretty sure that sex with Adam is an experience. Not that he truly knows. Not like first hand, been in your bed, up against your wall, fuck me harder now goddammit _knows_. But he's still confident that Adam and sex would almost always be an _oh, fuck, hello_ experience.

It's something that he's devoted too many hours to thinking about. Hours on the bus. Hours on the stage. Hours in the shower with his eyes squeezed shut and his hand wrapped tight around his dick.

It was the kiss at the AMAs that planted the seed. The kiss that buckled – buckled, dammit – his knees in front of millions of people. Because if a kiss can cause that? The fucking would just about have to be shattering.

The weeks since then, weeks of touring and playing to the crowd? Has done nothing but reinforce Tommy's surety of Adam and mind-bending sex.

Nights of watching Adam on stage, his body rolling sensually to the heavy beat of a song, of Adam twisting his fingers through Tommy's hair, and of kisses and gropes and everything but a fuck has Tommy wide awake and staring blindly into space. Has him wondering and pondering and thinking when he should be sleeping, recharging, getting ready for yet another performance. And the inevitable case of blue balls that will follow.

And for the first time in a long time, Tommy finds himself honestly regretting something. He regrets leaving Adam to believe that just because Tommy likes curvy hips and rounded breasts means he doesn't appreciate a hard dick, too.

Because he does. Or at least he has on occasion. First time withstanding – because a three beer queer night really doesn't count, does it? – Tommy has experienced and fucking enjoyed, well, fucking a man.

Right about now? He'd damn well enjoy fucking Adam. Or being fucked by Adam. It really doesn't even matter anymore. Just so long as the words _Adam_ and _Tommy_ and _naked_ are scattered along with _fuck me_ and _harder_ and _holy fuck_.

Well, he'd be enjoying it if he could just figure out a way to correct Mr. Adam I'll-Not-Bend-Your-Straight Lambert's misconception.

Which is proving a near impossible thing to do when there really is never a time they're really alone. Between the shows and the tour buses and the band – not that Tommy doesn't adore everyone in the band, but really, five minutes, please? – there has not been a free minute.

And if he has to jerk off one more time, has to bite through his lip trying to keep the whimpers and moans in check while he imagines the calloused hand around his dick is Adam's and not his own, if he doesn't fucking get a chance to fucking fuck Adam soon, he's going to explode.

Just not in the pretty, delightful come on my cock kind of way.

Groaning, Tommy flips over onto his stomach, buries his head in the crook of his arm, and forces his brain away from Adam and the way he'd held his neck earlier, his grip tight and demanding while he kissed the living shit out of Tommy.

It was more than enough to leave Tommy hard and aching for the rest of the night. Thanks so fucking much.

"Tommy?" Adam's voice is full of concern. "You okay? Not getting sick again, are you?"

Tommy drags his head from his hiding place and, eyes skating over Monte, he focuses on Adam. "'M good."

Brow wrinkling, Adam presses a hand against Tommy's forehead. "Yeah?"

Nodding, Tommy whispers, "I'm sure."


End file.
